The sonne riseth with heat, and the grasse widereth, and hys flower falleth awaye, & the beautye of the fashyon of it perysheth: euen so shal the ryche man peryshe wyth hys aboundaunce.
Ye haue sayed. Is it but lost labour, to serue God? What profyt haue we for keping his commaundementes, and for walkinge humbly before the Lorde of Hostes?
Now say ye: It is but laboure and trauail, and thus haue ye thought scorne at it (sayeth the Lorde of hostes) offeryng robbery, yea, the lame and the sicke. Ye haue brought me in a meatoffering, shoulde I accepte it of youre hande, sayeth the Lorde?
And when the Sunne was vp God prepared a feruent east wynde: and the Sunne bett ouer the head of Ionas, that he faynted agayne, and wisshed vnto hys soule, that he myght dye, and sayde: It is better for me to dye, then to lyue.